


Coping mechanisms

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky needs a hug, Civil War Team Iron Man, Howard's A+ Parenting, M/M, My sad sons, Not actually angst though, Suggestion Of Child Abuse, Team Salty, Team Tony, They both just have a lot of feelings, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Defense Squad, accidental get together, not team Cap friendly, now with cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: After years of the bullshit they’ve been through, they’ve both found ways to deal with it. Tony can’t drink anymore and the self-destructive tendencies are a no-go too; he’s got people relying on him now, family. And it isn’t like Barnes can go on murder-sprees anymore either. It’s frowned upon.So Tony shrugs and takes it.This is the healthiest path they’ve made for themselves, and the company – the company beats the loneliness.





	Coping mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> All fics involving the Rogues moving back into the Compound will be part of a series now, so yay! 
> 
> Feel free to throw prompts or scream at me on my [Tumblr](https://cheshire-cassiel.tumblr.com/)

 

When Tony first gets back from Afghanistan, he drinks. It numbs the pain and brings him one step closer to a failed liver he won’t have any intention of treating, and then it’ll be over. Tony thinks it could be worth it for all the hangovers he nurses.

But then he remembers Yinsen, and the alcohol tastes too much like regret, and before he knows it, he dumps all the spirits down the drain.

When the thing with Obie goes down, Tony regrets that he did it; poured the good stuff away, not the – the other thing.

Because Obie deserved that, Tony trusted him, and Obie deserved that.

Without a drink, Tony had to find new ways to deal – except then, he’s dying from the poisoning and he thinks with some relief – _it’s finally over_.

But it’s not, and now he’s got SHIELD and the government on his ass.

So he continues to push and survive _and fight to stay alive_ on pure spite.

Bafflingly, the universe, or whatever higher power exists, _lets him_.

To what purpose, to what end; he doesn’t know, only that he’s got the tools – the drive, the smarts, the sheer force of will – to remake the world as he’s remade himself.

If he really wanted, Tony could be the supervillain everyone’s said he has the potential to be. Just for laughs, he could actually do what people think he will.

Jarvis thinks it’s a good idea.

Well, he did, anyway.

Through the years, Tony’s developed his own brand of getting-over-shit. He’s had to. Even he knows it’s not healthy; the PTSD, the panic attacks, the anxiety, the soul-shattering grief, the crippling guilt, the night terrors.

And the daddy-issues, can’t forget about those.

Tony’s brain is like a fun bag of mental problems.

And it isn’t healthy to keep it to himself. BARF and therapy can only do so much when he’s back in the toxic environment that his therapist warned him about.

Tony needs an outlet, so he creates one.

He takes to repairing a car, and when he tells Bruce absentmindedly in the common area of the kitchen how it’s going, Barton snorts. “Why not another suit?”

“Doesn’t fit the purpose.” He’s been short with them since they arrived.  Since the government decided they want the Rogues back in the Compound; for all of them to sing Kumbaya together while holding hands and making marshmallow sacrifices over the bonfire.

It’s bullshit.

But Tony can handle bullshit. He’s handled worse.

Again, Barton snorts.

Tony ignores him, as he does the rest of them.

The only reason he wanders into common areas is the routine – it helps – Tony can’t afford to go down any rabbit holes, and Friday is under strict instructions to keep him on course: no more all-nighters, no more eighteen-hour lab binges.

He tries to sleep. He takes regular showers. He goes out for fresh air. He goes to the gym. He goes to meetings. He creates for a _normal_ period of time. He eats.

He’s successfully masquerading as an adult.

Much as that thought pains him, Tony comforts himself that at least he’s got his coffee (it’s his favorite, Bruce got it from Kenya).

While Romanoff, Barton, Wilson, and Rogers sit at the table, trying to be friendly and _mending the chasm_ with the extra place-setting Tony’s been ignoring for the past month as his routine dictates. Though they smile and talk, all politeness and banter, Tony sees right through them: like piranhas in a Jacuzzi.

He maintains his post by the kitchen with Bruce –him and his science bro offered the slim barrier of the kitchen counter to separate them.

 The room’s so tense with tension you could cut it with a knife and serve it for dessert.

Bruce is handling it a lot better now that he’s found some kind of Inner-Zen during his backpacking after the Ultron fiasco.

Tony had insisted on the sabbatical. Wanted to take one himself after his robot-child went on a murder spree, but couldn’t – not when someone had to clean up the mess. Even with his inability to step away – being a major shareholder of Stark Industries and its subsidies, as well as handling Avengers PR meant little time for himself, if at all; Bruce was in no condition when he was battling both the Hulk slamming around in his head, and the reminiscences of Maximoff’s magic.

Tony wasn’t exactly unscathed from the latter either, but he’d been tortured, hooked up to a car battery, operated on in a cave and left to die by the hand of his pseudo-father figure, and that was just the first year of being a “superhero”.  He can handle a lot of shit, and for all the battles he fights in his head, at the very least, he isn’t sharing the headspace with someone with issues of their own.

He can handle more shit on top of more shit, and that includes dealing with the unresolved consequences of Maximoff joining the Avengers in light of Ultron, and the Rogues being back in the Compound.

There’s a part of him that knows he can make it easier – just pretend that all that Civil War bullshit didn’t happen – fall right back into the one-sided affection and “banter”, and do exactly what they’ve been doing since New York.

But he can’t.

Disagreeing about politics was one thing, but coming to terms that he’d never had a family with them felt just as bad as finding out that they were hiding his parents’ murder from him.

Rhodey threatened to kick his ass if he blamed himself for their behavior: their lack of trust in him, their inability to see past their own egos, their unwillingness to actually _know_ Tony Stark beyond the shiny veneer of genius-playboy-billionaire-philanthropist.

It wasn’t petty to hold it against them, to be angry, to be hurt. He deserved to be.

But Tony knows he’s to blame for the atmosphere that sometimes threatens to choke the Compound with awkward silences and weighted stares of bitterness and resentment.

He does feel bad for putting Bruce through it, but he also can’t help but take pleasure in it.

 _Meet us halfway – We forgive_ you – _We can go back to the way we were before –_

Bull-fucking-shit.

He’s nursing a mug when Barnes walks in.

There’s a shift in the room then as Rogers hops to his feet – wide smile, open arms, placating tone – like he’s trying to approach some scared, feral animal.

The rest of the Rogues follow suit – albeit at a distance – still afraid even with Barnes being one-armed. Not that he couldn’t do damage with just the one, but he’s got _lethal killer_ radiating from his pores, and Tony supposes it’s just self-preservation.

The coffee Tony sips is bitter on his tongue as he watches Rogers fuss and hen about with the others intoning like they’re all friends, and Barnes makes the same face like he can taste the deception of it.

They treat him like he’s made of glass. And sure, the guy’s been through some serious shit, but he’s getting help and Tony’s pretty sure that the behavior isn’t endearing him to open up and _trust them_ anyway.

Not that Tony would.

He learned his lesson, but this was none of his business. Tony’s doing his part to make it up to the ex-POW, and he’s learning not to give more than what’s already been offered.  

 Barnes skulks away from their prying fingers and overly bright smiles, sliding around the counter to put that barrier between them, not even meeting Bruce’s eye when the other scientist pours him tea, out of a strange habit that’s formed between them.

“That’s blasphemous,” Tony tells him.

Bruce retorts in turn, “It’s delicious.”

“It’s leaf water.”

Barnes says nothing at all, and right on time, the coffee is finished, and Tony departs for his safe spaces.

After that morning, Barnes is officially out of hiding and insinuates himself in Tony and Bruce’s morning ritual. It doesn’t take much to adjust to his presence, not when he’s trying to be unobtrusive about it.

Still, the routine will get Tony through this, at least until the United States government can convince the American people (and the people of the world watching) that the Rogues can be trusted. 

Which may or may not take a while; Tony’s seen the Youtube videos of the fight from the German airport; read enough forums and comment sections to know that while the people are on his side, in this, their incredulity and displeasure towards the Rogues has ultimately led to Tony being stuck with them indefinitely.

Clearly, Tony can’t have nice things.

But Pepper gives it six months, assuming everyone behaves, and Tony tells himself that it’s manageable.

He can handle it.

He’s under the car when Friday informs somewhat hesitantly, a few days later, “Boss, you’ve got a visitor.”

Pausing, Tony recalls that he doesn’t have meetings; Rhodey is overseas on official Accords business as the Avengers’ representative; Thor’s still in Asgard; Peter’s got school and still giving daily reports to Happy; Carol would have sent a message first; Vision has a cooking class at this hour; Bruce is in his own section of the lab fiddling around with his experiments, and Strange, the bastard, usually just _appears_ whenever he wants.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Sergeant Barnes, sir.”

That’s – new.

Staring up at the undercarriage of the car thoughtfully, Tony ran through the possible reasons.

With or without Barnes’ weekly BARF sessions and therapy appointments, it’s normal to choose isolation in order to process. Tony’s done it plenty. Barnes has been doing it since Tony sent the BARF program to Wakanda, according to Princess Shuri, and it continued when he moved into the Compound, verified by Friday.

Only in the last week did Barnes take to joining everyone for breakfast, the production of everyone’s eerily chipper faces proof of the progress Barnes was willing to let them in on.

But why come here?

It takes maybe a second, just behind Friday’s tentative, “Boss?” inquiry that he sighs, “Son of a bitch" and then, “Let him in,” he decides immediately after, sliding out.

At least the car’s done.

The space where Barnes’ metal arm, now nothing more than a cut off sleeve, sways slightly as he approaches from the elevator.

He leans too much on too one side, Tony notes, still used to compensating for the heaviness of the prosthetic, and he squishes the desire to create a better replacement. He doesn’t owe Barnes that.

“What’s up?” Tony greets, wiping his oil-slick hands on a rag.

Abrupt and to the point is something Barnes seems to appreciate because he doesn’t flinch, instead he declares, “You should have killed me.”

“I should have done a lot of things.”

“You had every reason to.”

“Did I?” Barnes looks like he wants to pull his hair out, and strangely amused, Tony added almost lightheartedly, “It’s not like you were the only one that was wrong.”

“I killed your parents.”

 “I’d shake your hand if it had been just Howard.” It’s never been a secret – Howard’s A+ parenting – anyone with an internet connection could easily find the articles that speculated on Tony’s home life after one too many unexplained bruises, broken bones and emergency hospital visits at an age when Howard couldn’t blame it on Tony’s party lifestyle.  “Mom, on the other hand, that one hurt.”

“You should have killed me,” Barnes repeats, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“And what would that have achieved? Killing you isn’t some trade-off that’ll get me, my mother, back.” Barnes’ lips smack together in silence, and his jaw begins to work in his tension. Tony sighs. “I’m not angry, not anymore. That’s what therapy and BARF is for.”

“In Siberia -”

“I wanted to,” he interjected, “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Barnes seems even more lost with that answer, and Tony’s suspicions are confirmed. “What are you looking for, Barnes?”

Forgiveness; absolution; purpose, he knows them all, Barnes decides, “Nothing.”

“So you thought if I killed you, that was your choice then?” His pale eyes meet his sharply, but Tony doesn’t falter. “What happened, what was done; you, the Soldier, Hydra, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to take the easy way out. That wasn’t the lot you drew. That’s not what you’re going to get so stop holding out for it.”

At that, Barnes practically sags in on himself; not relief, resignation.

Tony knows intimately how cruel that realization is so he continues, placating with words no one ever thought to say to him, “You’ll recover in a way only you know how and from there you just have to live with it. Even if it means you have to drag your husk of a body through another day of hell to do it. You accept it. You do better. You keep trying. It’s just another day. You’ve survived worse.”

Tony recognizes the subtle shake in Barnes’ limbs and politely says nothing else. Setting aside the rag, he reaches for the baseball bat he was planning to use himself and offers it up.

Barnes blinks at the object and then at him. Tony wiggles it a little in invitation.

When, finally, out of curiosity, Barnes accepts it; Tony takes the crowbar on the workbench, takes a breath and smashes one of the windows of the car with it.

The satisfying shatter rouses something in Barnes, he only steps up to join him when Friday, obligingly, turns the music on.

Tony never gave much thought to having heavy metal music playing while physically destroying something, it’s oddly liberating. Barnes seems to think so too.

It took almost a week to put the car together in between all the work Tony already has on his plate. It takes less than ten minutes to destroy it. Looking at Barnes, and catching his own reflection on the shattered glass, Tony thinks neither of them has ever looked more at peace for it.

It doesn’t become their routine.

It takes a few days to fix a car up, after all, it wouldn’t be feasible, but Bucky goes to breakfast – stands beside Bruce, with the counter separating them from the Rogues, and listens as they exchange: “That’s blasphemous,” Tony tells him.

Bruce retorts in turn, “It’s delicious.”

“It’s leaf water,” he reminds, and then, the coffee is finished, and they separate once more.

The Rogues are suspicious.

Romanoff glances at them with an unreadable expression while Rogers frowns incessantly as if its Tony’s fault that Barnes won’t sit with them; another place-setting ignored.

Tony still doesn’t care, even if he feels oddly vindicated.

Barnes comes down to the lab again a few days later; Friday tells him straight, “He’s here to see you” because besides the people previously mentioned with access to the lab, only Barnes floats on neutral, and his baby-girl doesn’t know what to make of it. Tony doesn’t either.

“Yeah, okay, let him in.”

He’s carrying a plate which is new. “You missed dinner,” he adds.

Oh.

With four meetings between SI and the Accords council; and his visit with the New Avengers taking a considerable amount of time (“Rhodey-bear, I’m fine, we’re all still alive and the Compound is in one piece, seriously, what do you take me for? Kam, for goodness’ sake, I don’t need – you know what? Fine, come here, just for that I’m hugging you for the rest of the day.”). Tony knows it wasn’t on purpose, and Friday’s been adjusting his schedule as much as possible, but he’s broken routine, and that wasn’t the plan.

But being around people all day exhausts him now, drains him; the excuses come out. His tolerance for dealing with other people, of playing the role – Tony can do it, he’s done it all his life, but he’s just not in the mood – he couldn’t bring himself to deal with Rogers’ disappointment; Romonaff’s apathy; Maximoff’s hatred; Barton’s cruelty.

It’s too much on top of everything else – on top of the therapy and the BARF sessions reminding him how fucked up he is – on top of the world he’s placed on his shoulders to fix the mess that he’s had a part in making because Tony Stark can’t do a damn thing right, and he feels like he’s going under a tide all of a sudden and –

He’s slipping, Tony realizes, and he clenches his fist to keep from shaking.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

 “Yeah, thanks. Just put it down over there,” Tony manages, ignoring the own quiver in his voice and gesturing at the small table in front of the couch. He’ll eat. He will. He can’t slip up; he can’t fail in this. He can’t go under.

When Barnes only looks at him with a raised brow, Tony waves off. “I don’t like being handed things.”

In exchange for that tidbit, Barnes just nods his easy acceptance, does as he’s told, and waits.

“You’re not going to leave until I eat, are you?”

“Routine is good.” Of course, he’d notice.

“Fine, did you bring something for yourself because it’s weird as hell to be eating when you aren’t.” Barnes raises a brow, and _oh, right._

Shaking his head, Tony settles for turning the flat screen on. “There’s a popcorn machine and a mini-fridge, help yourself.”

They’re into the second episode of Star Trek; Barnes’ popcorn bowl is empty save for two or three un-popped kernels when Tony puts his plate aside. “Thanks,” he says, “for the food.” Its Vision’s cooking and he winces when he realizes that he’s disturbed Vision’s routine too. He’ll have to make it up to him.

Barnes nods, and with nothing else to say, Tony goes back to his lab. Barnes doesn’t leave though, instead, he sits through another two episodes.

It’s strange. He decides.

They don’t speak much during the visit, though Tony doesn’t find himself particularly keen on talking anyway. Barnes never does. And it’s nice, not having to be “on”.

 But it’s still strange.

On the third day this happens – this time with no offering of food on Barnes’ part because Tony isn’t breaking routine again – he offers nothing more than his silent vigilance as Tony works, and company when Tony chases him towards the television. So, Tony asks, “So what’s the deal; is there a reason you’re playing sentinel? Or are you just here to watch television? Because there’s one in the common room, you know.”

“Steve sticks to me like glue,” he deadpans.

“Fair enough.” Avoidance is a normal coping mechanism.

After years of the bullshit they’ve been through, they’ve both found ways to deal with it. Tony can’t drink anymore and the self-destructive tendencies are a no-go too; he’s got people relying on him now, _family_. And it isn’t like Barnes can go on murder-sprees anymore either. It’s frowned upon.

So Tony shrugs and takes it.

This is the healthiest path they’ve made for themselves, and the company – the company beats the loneliness.

Friday adjusts the protocols accordingly.

Days go by, and whether due to the boredom or the sleep deprivation Tony knows the super soldier is dabbling in from the heavy bags beneath his eyes, Barnes falls asleep watching some ridiculous reality show in the lab.

It’s not Tony’s place to ask, so he doesn’t. Instead, he signals Fri to dim the lights a bit more as he finishes the project he’s on.

He’s only working an extra hour, he’s got this; he’s not slipping.

It isn’t because Tony’s got an issue about leaving the Winter Solider in his lab, either; Barnes can’t even operate the microwave by himself yet. But while contemplating throwing a blanket over him, the other man starts to tremble and thrash around.

Princess Shuri, and the therapists all insisted they avoid physical contact during episodes like that – not that Steve listened if the still destroyed wall in the common area is anything to go by – and Tony’s got no super soldier serum in him– so he backs away. Tony doesn’t have much self-preservation, but it isn’t about him.  He flinches against the tears leaking out of Barnes’ tightly closed eyes and the yells tearing through his throat.

Tony can’t just stand there though, he isn’t heartless so he begins to murmur nonsense in an attempt to placate (or what passes for it), hoping that his voice will be enough to ground the man, and for the most part, it works.

It takes five minutes, but Barnes is reduced to whimpering and mumbling in Russian, and Tony takes the victory where he can.

He doesn’t end up leaving the lab as he planned.

Sleeping on the couch beside Barnes is going to be murder for Tony’s back, but Friday only dims the lights.

In the morning – the blanket is tucked around Tony – and Barnes is gone.

Come breakfast, the exchange goes:

“That’s blasphemous,” Tony tells him; a routine.

Bruce retorts in turn, “It’s delicious.”

“It’s leaf water.”

The coffee is finished.

Three weeks later, and Barnes being in the lab is the new normal.

At this stage, he has his own space in it; and an old motorcycle to tinker with because Tony can never leave well enough alone, even if the excuse he’s come up with is something along the lines of preventing Barnes from entering “watchdog” mode for the Rogues.

“Why would I even do that?”

“Can’t be trusted,” he answers shortly, shrugging carelessly. It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Why they would want access to the labs despite not caring _at all_ for the work Tony did there.

_We’re just trying to prevent you from making another Ultron –_

Barnes snorts. “You can’t be trusted not to drink your weight in coffee. ‘Sides, you’ve got Friday watchin’ you like a hawk. Now stop being dumb and hand me the wrench.”

Half-way through that day, Barnes adds, “We’re not destroying this one,” and Tony only nods in kind, “We’ll find something else to do.” 

“We” snuck up on them, or maybe, they just walked into it. Either way, neither of them mentions anything more on the matter, though it’s as much of an agreement as any.

When Tony tells Rhodey about it, his best friend only shakes his head and remarks, “You guys are fucking weird.”

Two days later, they blow something up.

Vision thinks he wants to try his hand at painting it. Peter looks like he’s going to pull his hair out with one hand as his phone shakes in the other – recording the explosion – while Harley shouts over the noise, “That was awesome!”

Rogers isn’t impressed and grows warier when he and Barnes actually high-five in the wake of it.

Tony doesn’t see Barnes for the rest of the day, and the night following, he _murder-struts_ into the lab.

“Bucky-bear,” Tony begins in warning, but it’s already too late. Barnes grabs the gun that Tony was about to test and shots at the target across the room.

It isn’t ready yet, the gun.

Barnes doesn’t seem to care, and he hits dead-center regardless.

Triggers or not, Barnes and the Winter Soldier are one and the same; his skill set is dangerous and frightening, and Tony tries not to find it a hot to see all that lethal in action.

When Barnes manages to empty the clip, he’s breathing heavily. Slowly, he lowers the weapon, and Tony purses his lips thoughtfully before asking, “No recoil?”

“Two degrees to the left,” Barnes answers without missing a beat, and Tony pouts. “Damn.” 

He doesn’t need to say much else before Barnes is venting, about Rogers, about the rest of the Rogues; the creepy happy-family-stint they have going on; the constant warnings that _Tony is dangerous_.

The last one, he shrugs at.  “I am dangerous. Everyone in the building is dangerous. Can’t always be the odd one out.”

“They say it like you turned on ‘em when they’re the ones who did,” Barnes grunts.

“It’s easier to blame me.”

“You just take it?” he demands.

“I take it,” Tony began, “and then I use it to make the things we blow up.” Flashing him a lazy smile and offering him a pat on the shoulder, Tony added, “We find ways to deal, Barnes.”

“James," he says a few moments later.

“Hmm?”

“My name’s James.”

Flashing him a wink, Tony replies, “I’ll keep that in mind, Tasty-Freeze.”

The next morning, the conversation at breakfast goes like this:

“That’s blasphemous.”

His science bro retorts, “It’s delicious.”

“It’s leaf water,” James finally says, and Tony snorts.

“Then why do you keep drinking it?”

“Banner said it’ll make me less angry.”

Bruce hums. “That’s because it’s got cannabis in it.”

Surprised, both James and Tony peer down at his mug. “No shit?”

The tea, while an interesting blend, does not, however, prevent nightmares.

Fortunately, Friday has protocols for them.

Tony gets woken up just before it gets too awful, and even manages to go back to sleep. His record is five hours.

Not that James would know that.

The protocols – that is, not the record – because while Tony burns in the desert; freezes in the bunker; lies on the operating table in the cave or flies towards the wormhole; Friday’s already rousing him. Even if his mind continues to conjure: the arc reactor being ripped out; the shield coming down –

He’s going to wake up.

Tony can feel it even when his heart feels like its stopping in his chest.

Instead of hearing Friday’s voice, though, what he hears is softly spoken Russian, and – why is he in a headlock? Wait…that’s not a headlock…

Is James…petting his hair?

“What…what are you doing?” Tony mumbles, but still, James continues to soothe, and Tony’s actually afraid that his dreams are getting more and more vivid.

Full disclosure: He's had certain  _dreams_ about his housemate and lab-buddy one too many times before, but James' pale blue eyes are too luminous in the dark to be something he dreamed up. And also, he's wearing too many clothes, but that's neither here nor there. 

“What are you -”

Softly, Friday finally deigns to speak, “It’s three fifty-two, Boss; you’re in the Compound, in your room. Sergeant Barnes was concerned and came to check on you, you’re safe.”

“Check on me?”

“Got ya,” James only repeats, and Friday infers, “You’re safe, Boss, please rest.”

And it might be because he’s tired or maybe because he trusts Friday with his life and possibly trusts James with his too, but Tony surrenders with a mumble of, “Fine, but you better not watch me sleep, James.”

Friday assures him the next morning that he does not. But he also doesn’t leave Tony’s bed.

He wakes up to James beside him, or rather, behind him, exhaling evenly in his ear.

Tony’s the little spoon which makes sense because James is at least a head taller than he is. But also – is not the point because whatever the hell they are – they don’t cuddle. They _don’t._

When he tries to squirm away, he’s only meet with the resistance of a muscled arm holding him in place and the firm heat of James’ front flush against Tony’s back.

Comforting and warm and god, what is that weird feeling in his chest? Jesus Christ, is he having an anxiety attack?

Wait-wait- _no_ ; blood’s not meant to go down there!

The arm around his waist tightens, and James’ voice, rough and low, informs him, “You think too loud, doll.”

Okay. Okay. Okay-okay- _okay_. This is not normal; this is not part of the routine.

The next night, it happens again. And the next night. And the next night. And the next. (So it might be, part of the routine, that is.)

No nightmares are involved. 

Friday just…lets James in when Tony’s asleep, and he wakes up to Winter Soldier cuddles. When he asks his AI what the hell she's doing, Friday responds carefully, "Boss, you're very tactile, and since you've returned to the Compound, you've come into physical contact only briefly with Doctor Banner and Sergeant Barnes. I have run scans and collected data, and found that you are not...happy when you are not physically in contact with others enough. As I was created to watch out for your health and well-being; and found that your endorphin levels have risen since your episode a few nights ago, I granted Sergeant Barnes access." 

"Let me get this straight, you're letting him in specifically to cuddle me?" 

"...yes." 

"Does he...know to do that?" 

"I think, Boss, that he needs it too."

At the back of his mind, Tony knows he can change the protocol, knows he can tell James to knock it off; change the privacy settings and refuse him entry through Friday to avoid even having to talk about it. He could do it.

But – he doesn’t.

Instead, Tony squirms deeper against him – tries not to think too much of the absent brush of lips against the sensitive skin below his ear –and goes back to sleep.

The following evening, as he shuts the lab down, Tony declares, “I want to be the big spoon tonight.”

James snorts. “Your arms long enough to grab all this?”

“Long enough to grab what matters,” he responds with a wiggle of his brows.

Despite that – Tony remains the little spoon, and it’s a routine he’s just going to have to live with.

The conversation at breakfast happens like this:

“I’m tempted,” Tony informs, squinting into the mug over Bruce’s shoulder.

Thoughtful, the other scientist muses, “You can try some if you want.”

Tony hums, and James offers up his mug before leaning on the counter on his other side, arms crossed.

He sips; he makes a face; he hands it back. “Leaf water,” is his verdict.

Bruce chuckles and before James will give him back his mug of coffee, he takes a sip and then makes a _not bad_ face that has Tony returning it with a _right? Ain’t it grand?_ expression.

When they finally swop mugs, they’re standing too close to one another – his side flushed against James’, and neither say anything.

Rogers looks like he could bend the fork he’s holding.

There’s a benefit Tony needs to attend that night instead of going to dinner with the rest of the “family”, and it really is the battle of two evils. He argues with Pepper over it via video-call and that’s when James walks in to remind him to eat, as he’s taken to doing.

“Do I really need to bring someone?” Tony is saying as the doors to the lab open.

“Yes, unfortunately; you haven’t been seen out and about for a while and people are starting to worry about you,” Pepper says with a sigh. “I’d go with you, but we just got those rumors to stop that we’re getting back together.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Happy won’t exactly appreciate that.”

“No, no he won’t.” She sighs again. “How about one of the Avengers? That’ll be good PR for both the causes.”

“How about I stab myself in the eye?”

 James snorts as he walks past the screen; fresh from the shower, all damp hair and dewy pink skin. “You’re dramatic as hell.”

“Barnes, how about you?” Pepper asks, and to his credit, the super soldier doesn’t flinch, only shrugs. “Not an Avenger.”

“You count though.”

“And you’re my type,” Tony can’t help but add, pointing at him with the screwdriver he’s holding. He paused then scowled at Pepper. “I’m not agreeing to this.”

She hums, “It sounded like you did.”

James snorts again.

“I’ll have another suit sent up,” Pepper informs, “Make sure Barnes has a good time, Tony.”

And then the call ends.

“Do you even realize what you just did?” Tony asks, raising a brow. “You’re agreeing to go out in public with me. Frankly, I don’t think Rogers even knows you’re down here.”

“Of course he does, why do you think I _stay_ down here?”

It would make sense. Friday’s been having a ball shutting down Romanoff’s attempts to override the system to get into the lab, and Rogers is looking more and more anxious every morning.

Tony grumbles. “That’s fair.” Before he adds a moment later, “You sure about this though?”

With a careless shrug, he says, “Got nothing else to do if you ain’t here.”

Tony gives him a _look_ and reminds, “You’re living in a state of the art facility with technological gadgets so new, the only people who have anything similar are those in Wakanda. How the hell is being _bored_ possible?”

“Can’t work the DVR or the microwave,” he points out sweetly, and Tony pretends to be offended.

 “So this benefit,” James asks as he puts on the dress shirt, less than thirty minutes later. “What’s it for?”

“Reconstruction efforts,” Tony answered, shrugging into the suit jacket and does up his cufflinks. “Did a number on a few countries while saving the world, have to fix the mess we made.”

“Makes sense,” he murmurs, before fiddling with the buttons and Tony takes pity on him and asks, “Mind?”

“You better, or we’re gonna be late.”

Tony buttons up the shirt efficiently enough. Pepper had the other arm of it the shirt severed already, and after helping Barnes put the suit jacket on, he stares at the mess of dark hair and asks, “Want me to do that too?”

“Go ahead, can’t go around makin’ ya look bad.”

Snorting, he informed, “With a face like yours, that’s impossible.”

Gesturing him to sit, Tony grapples with an elastic before running his fingers through to comb it and gathering it into a bunch to tie it. “Man buns, all the rage,” he informs with a wink, before taking a breath for The Conversation that had to follow; better now in the lab than out in front of the reporters: “Now, about what we tell people.”

“We’re tellin’ people things?” he asks, a single brow arched.

“Just because they’ll ask,” Tony says, casual and cool, before shrugging as he lists the likely possibilities where he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot: “Housemate; fellow Avenger-not-Avenger; cuddle-buddy; lab pal?”

There’s a thoughtful pause before James decides, “I’m your type, ain’t I?”

Despite himself, Tony can feel the heat tickle his neck and ears. “That was -”

“They’re cool with that in the future now so I guess it won’t be so bad,” James continues with a shrug.

There’s something going very wrong in his brain so much so that Tony feels like some of his wires are crossed. How is James saying all this so calmly? Does he actually mean – “Wait…what?”

“You heard Ms Potts,” James says with a smirk, “you’re taking me out on a date, Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is.


End file.
